


The Children of Between

by art_of_a_diffrent_color



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Beta Wanted, But pulls heavily from canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Clone Wars, F/M, Force-Sensitive Clones (Star Wars), Inspired by a dream I had while running a fever, Most People Live/Some People Die, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, That's probably not how the Force works, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, that's definitely not how the Force works, will update tags as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21783184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/art_of_a_diffrent_color/pseuds/art_of_a_diffrent_color
Summary: There is more to the Force than mind tricks and levitation, but knowledge comes and goes and sometimes, sometimes, it comes back around. Monsters are not always content to be left to their slumber, and the will of the Force is a strange thing.—————Cody was no stranger to either helping or needing a brother’s help chasing away the horrors of battle. But these were something different.Sitting up, the commander drug a hand over his scarred face, parts and pieces of the dream flashing unbidden behind closed eyes: A forest, lush and green, sprawling in all directions beneath a butterscotch sky; The swish of a brown cape around his legs and the glint of the sun on silver armor; Tall, graceful horns atop a head of long brown hair and the sound of a woman’s laugh.With a shake, Cody pulled himself from the memory of the dream.Shake it off Commander,the clone told himself, laying down and pulling his covers back up.It was only a dream.
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 60





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello anyone who might read this, I want to start off by saying that this fic was inspired by a fever dream I had while on NyQuil. It also has an outline, so I am 95% certain I will actually finish it. Please Read, Review, and Enjoy!

Once, in a time when the legends were every-day life, long before the fabled Jedi first splintered and the Sith came to be, lived those who came before.

The legends say that they lived in the time after The Ones, but not so long as to have forgotten the power and the pain of the Celestials. Their name for themselves has been forgotten, but it is said that they walked the middle path of the Force, and so the legends call them _Haar ade be acyk: The children of between._

_\-----_

Cody woke with a gasp on his lips, and only years of training kept the sound from slipping into the night and waking his men. The dreams were back. Dreams, in general, were something the Kamenoans had for years been trying to remove from the clones, with no success. For the most part, this was not a failing overly mourned by the men. Except for when the nightmares pressed in, but on those nights a brother could always count on a Vode to be willing to share a berth, promising protection no-matter what the nightmares claimed.

Cody was no stranger to either helping or needing a brother’s help chasing away the horrors of battle. But these were something different.

Sitting up, the commander drug a hand over his scarred face, parts and pieces of the dream flashing unbidden behind closed eyes: A forest, lush and green, sprawling in all directions beneath a butterscotch sky; The swish of a brown cape around his legs and the glint of the sun on silver armor; Tall, graceful horns atop a head of long brown hair and the sound of a woman’s laugh.

With a shake, Cody pulled himself from the memory of the dream.

_Shake it off Commander,_ the clone told himself, laying down and pulling his covers back up. _It was only a dream._

Just as the clone commander fell into a restless sleep, several things happened across the galaxy: The force rang like a claxon; The temple on Courisant was roused instantly as Masters and Initiates alike woke with alarm and confusion only partially their own; On Excarga a woman clawed her way to the ocean’s surface, desperate for air; And on his throne, the Sith Lord began making new plans.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More then clones are woken, and decisions are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So before this chapter starts, I just want to say that I had a really hard time writing the Jedi council. that being said, I am happy with how this chapter has come out. I still do not have a beta, and I am aware that I do not use consistent tense in my writing. To those of you who might be bothered by that, rest assured it bugs me too.

The normally quiet halls of the temple at night were in an uproar. Master Luminara had been meditating, sleep having eluded her when without warning the Force rocked, the upheaval flooding through the Mirialan Jedi in an instant. The mirialan gasped against the onslaught, and distantly she was aware of the thought that this must be what it’s like to be caught in the tides of Kamino – helpless against the sheer power and pull, only able to wait and hope that when it was over, she would be in one piece if not unscathed.

This was the force as Luminara had never known it before, driven by a single-minded intent thousands of times stronger than any other time the force had reached out to her. Time stretched on for what could have been an eternity or seconds. Amid the swirling entropy that threatened to consume her, Master Unduli was aware that time was irrelevant to whatever this was; It would continue until it was done, existing in its own pocket that it carved from reality, leaving nothing behind to indicate it had ever existed.

When it ended, its absence was as overwhelming as its presence had been. Every fiber of the mirialan’s body pulsed from the feeling of the cosmic force pouring through her.

Luminara’s limbs shook as she lifted herself from the floor, and, slower than she would have liked, climbed to her feet. The whole world felt underwater; Between the slight pressure in the center of her forehead and the way the world seemed to tilt five degrees off its axis, the green-skinned Jedi was reminded of the first time she had tried Corellian Brandy.

Pushing through the haze in her mind, Luminara moved to her chamber door, where she could hear voices begin to gather just beyond. With a near-silent hiss of the door, the Jedi stepped into the hall. Padawans and crechlings stood barefoot in the stone room. The youngest clutching blankets and fighting back their tears, while some of the older initiates tried to comfort them.

Soft beeping from her wrist brought the Jedi master away from comforting and directing the children back to bed. With a push of a button, she answered the comm.

“Unduli here,”

“Ah, good, awake you are.”

“Master Yoda,” the woman sighed in relief, “There’s been a disturbance in the force.”

“Felt it, I have. The reason for my call it is. Meet, the council must.”

Luminara nodded, worry settling low in her stomach at the Grand Masters tone.

“Of course, Master Yoda,” she began before hesitating, looking around at the numerous frightened faces.

“However, I will be delayed,” she continued, making up her mind. “Many of the children were woken by the disturbance and-”

“Understand, I do, Master Unduli.” The older Jedi cut in. “Attend to your duties. See you soon, we will.”

\---

“Master,” The ghostly blue holo-image flickered in the dark.

“There has been a disturbance, have you felt it, my apprentice?”

“I have, oh master.”

“Good,” The robed figure wheezed. “I sense the cause of this to be somewhere in the outer rim. Bring it to me. Destroy it if you must.”

“Yes, Master.”

With a minute nod, the cloaked figure cut off the transmission, leaving Douku kneeling on the ground.

“I will not fail.”

\---

Almost as soon as Cody’s head hit his pillow, a sharp moan had him sitting back up. While his rank of commander afforded him private quarters – a luxury he was more than grateful for in the hustle and bustle of a starship – Cody preferred to share quarters with his brothers when planet-side.

Looking around for the source of the sound, Cody was unsurprised to see the figure three bunks over sitting up, gently clutching his head. Slipping from his own berth, Cody softly padded his way over to his brother, careful to make enough sound to let the rest of the vod know where – and who – he was. The last thing he wanted was to spook the room full of battle paranoid men and get a blaster to something important.

Reaching the bunk, Cody took a seat at the foot of the bed.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Hey,” Threepwood responded, thumb gently rubbing circles on his right temple. “Sorry to wake you.”

Cody shrugged, smiling good-naturedly. “You today, me tomorrow. Is it your head?”

Threep hummed in confirmation.

“Medical cleared me, but I was kriffing close to that mortar when it went off.”

Cody sighed; it _had_ been a close call. Closer than any of them would have liked.

“How long?” Threepwood grimaced at the question, chagrined.

“Threep…” Cody pressed, although given this particular brother and his aversion to medical – only surpassed, Cody is confident, by his Generals detestation of the place - the scarred clone thinks he could make an educated guess as to when the headache started.

“…Before lights out.”

Cody gives his brother a look, one usually reserved for shinnies, head-strong padawans, and their equally stubborn Jedi Masters.

As if reading his mind, Threepwood sighs and scrubs a hand over his face.

“I know, I know. Just let me put on my boots before you march me down there.”

“Five minutes, after that, I don’t care what you’re wearing. I will carry you to medical if I have to.” 

The walk to medical is quiet, only the unfortunate few on gamma shift roaming the halls encounter the two as they walk.

“Heard you moving about earlier.” 

Even though Threep’s eyes are nearly slits as he squints against the harsh lighting, Cody can feel his brother’s gaze on the side of his face. There’s no point in denying it, and Cody knows that his brother is only worried for him, so the commander nods his head in affirmation.

“Yeah. Dreams woke me up.”

“Bad ones?”

“Nah, just strange.”

“What’s strange about them?”

“My armor for one thing,” Cody smirks, huffing a laugh. “Don’t know why I would have a cape.”

That earns him a laugh from Threep.

“You? In a cape?”

“Yeah, I know, right? I don’t think it was very me. And there was this woman…” Cody trails off, lost in the strange familiarity of her face. Beside him, his brother doesn’t seem to notice Cody’s distraction.

“Sounds like pretty good dreams if you ask me.”

The memory of her laughter, warm and bright like the first rays of sunlight on his skin on a cold morning, comes to mind. The memory warming the clone deep in his heart.

“Yeah,” Cody mutters, smiling softly. “Yeah, I guess so.”

\---

Deep in the Messel sector, the force crashes through a jungle planet. Trees shake, and birds fly from their perches, and below the surface of the planet, a rumble begins. Silver smoke, stirred from the cracks in the crust of the earth, begin to pool and congeal.

The earth groans and two slits of black crack open in the smoke, with silver specks like distant stars barely visible, peering out at the world. Ten-thousand teeth flash in the dim light, and all life on the planet stills as the creature in the smoke stirs and wakes.

\---

On entering the council chambers, Luminara was struck by how many of her fellow masters were in attendance. With only two or three exceptions, every seat was filled. Some, like herself, were fully dressed while others had only been able to pull a robe over their sleep clothes. Others still had made no attempt to make themselves presentable - like Master Fisto who’s blue holo-image sat barefoot and shirtless in his chair, his lightsaber clipped on as an afterthought, with no concern for modesty. Some were clearly having transmission issues, their holoimages flickering dangerously close to what the Jedi knew to be an imminent disconnection.

“-any idea what the cause was?” Master Mundi (one of the few non-holographic Masters in attendance) was asking as Luminara took her seat.

“Unclear it is, the cause of this disturbance.”

“If I may, Master Yoda?”

The Grand Master nodded his head, and all eyes turned to observe Aalya Securas projected image.

“Whatever this was, it has not affected all of us equally. My own experience, while intense, was nowhere the level of what Master Plo has described.”

“Where are you currently stationed?” 

“My men and I were providing escort along the recently problematic core hyperspace routes. We are on route back to Couricant now, Master Windu.”

“Correct me if I am mistaken Master Plo, but your fleet is in the outer rim territories. The Bonthawui system, or somewhere in its outskirts?”

The Kel Dor nods, his voice already modulated by his mask further distorted by the transmission.

“That is correct, although we are closer to Rishi Station by this point.”

“Then perhaps,” Luminara cut in, seizing the opportunity provided by a momentary lull in the discussion, “We should begin our search in that general area.”

“It’s as good a place to start as any.”

The unexpected voice caused Luminara to start slightly in her seat, looking expectantly at where the voice had come from, only to find no one occupying the chair.

“Master Kenobi, is that you?”

“Apologies Masters,” Obi-Wan’s voice said, each syllable laced with static and the distinct sound of a distant battle. “We are having trouble with our transmission. We were hoping you might be able to see us even if we couldn’t see you, but it seems we’ll be audio-only.”

“Grateful for your presence, we are, Master Kenobi.”

“I would caution against setting out on such a mission with only speculation as a guide.” Broke in Master Mundi.

“I appreciate your concern,” Obi-Wan's voice responded, and in her mind's eye, Luminara could see the posture of her fellow Master as if he were in the room: one hand on his chin while the other cupped his elbow, a worried pinch in his eyebrows. 

“And I do share them, Master Mundi.” The man continued. “However, all we have is speculation, and I do not believe we will find the answers we are looking for in meditation.”

A pause and Luminara’s mental image of Obi-Wan crosses its arms.

“Nor will our enemy make any hesitations in this search. We should not let the Sith search the galaxy unopposed.”

“I agree with Obi-Wan,” Fisto said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “However, that does not mean we should not search the force for answers as well.”

The council room erupts into a discussion, and eventually, the decision gets put to the vote. Hands are raised, and to Luminara, it's close. 

“Well?” Asks Obi-Wan, unable to witness for himself the council’s decision.

Yoda sighs in his seat.

“Begin the search, we will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You cannot convince me that the Holo- technology in the Star Wars universe does not suffer from the same problems as skype and zoom. I couldn't resist putting it in.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Separatists, Strangers, and Searches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooo! I am officially done with finals!!! Apologies for how long this update took, but it is here. I hope to be able to keep to a semi-regular schedule for posting (hopefully a new chapter every two weeks), but I make absolutely zero promises. I decided to split this chapter into two parts, just for my sanity. So, Chapter three should be up soon as well.  
> If anyone spots any typos or spelling errors, please let me know. I am running the story through two different editing programs, but they are hardly perfect, and I still do not have a beta.

Five days into the search and Plo Koon, if asked, would admit that he is tired. The war had long ago made its mark on the Kel Dorian. But something about this search, in particular, seems to have cost more energy than a battle, draining the Jedi.

"General," Plo Koon's com crackles beside him.

"Yes, Commander Wolffe?"

"We are approaching the destination, sir. Should be dropping out of hyperspace in the next ten minutes."

"Thank you, Wolffe. Is there anything else?"

There is a pause, which is how Plo knows his instinct was correct. Wolffe, among his many qualities, has proven to be a straight forward man, and hesitation not something he was prone to. It was a quality the Kel Dor greatly admired, it also, at times, made the clone exceptionally easy to read.

"How are you doing, sir?" 

The strength of the disturbance had brought the Jedi to his knees. 

The last thing the Jedi remembered before his world turned dark was a crushing panic and the horrible burning feeling of suffocation. Plo had woke in the med-bay an hour later, Wolffe sitting vigil by his bed. Plo had reached out to his son in all but name (and oh, was Plo aware of what many on the council would think of his feelings, his attachment, for the clone if they knew). Taking the usually steady clones' hand, the Jedi let Wolffe cling. They were all so young at heart, no matter how quickly they aged. 

Smiling behind his mask, the Jedi responds,

"I am fine, Commander. I am touched by your concern."

With anyone else and the exception of a few close brothers, Plo thinks his outwardly gruff Commander would have denied expressing concern. But the Kel Dorian had long ago recognized that he occupied a unique place in the soldiers' surprisingly gentle heart. It was not something the Jedi took for granted.

"I'll be on the bridge shortly Commander. I will see you there."

"Of course, Sir."

The com clicks off, and the Jedi sits back in his chair, reaching for the pad in front of him. Pulling up the mission briefing, checking off the list of planets he and his men have searched: Tatooine, Rodia, Siskeen, Dalchon, Ryloth – None of them had been the source of the disturbance. Every time the Wolffe Pack and it's general had entered orbit around a new planet, the Jedi could tell deep in his bones that it was not the right one. But the presence in the back of the Kel Dor's mind, which days ago had burst into a supernova, whispers _further,_ so the Jedi pushes on almost to the edge of wild space. 

With each passing second that brings the 104th closer to their destination, the supernova – now dimmed to a glowing flame but still stronger than it ever was before – hums in affirmation. 

"General," The com hisses, "Two minutes to Excarga."

 _Yes_ , thinks Plo with certainty only the force could have given him, _This is the one._

\---

\- Excarga, five days ago – 

Too much water, too little air. 

These were the first things Yerin noticed before the panic set in. Somehow, when the lance had pierced her body, and she watched her life drain from her, she hadn't expected death to be so…wet. Nor the need for air to be quite so pressing.

Scrabbling towards where she hoped the surface was, the woman desperately pushed through the pain in her side and the miasma of the force in her head.

Her lungs burning, Yerin may have wept when she felt her horns breach the surface of the water, but with how wet she was, it would have been difficult to tell.

Brown hair clung to her face and shoulders, and for a while, all she could do was float, the force still screaming and crashing through her mind. Logically, she knew she could breathe, but with the force howling – pushing, screaming, tearing – she may as well still be drowning.

Eventually, when the claxon in the force subsided, Yerin hauls herself to shore. The sand was warm, and the heat was soothing on her sore body that seemed determined to hurt _everywhere. Everywhere except –_

Eyes flying open, Yerin frantically pulled up her shirt, hands flying to check her abdomen, back - anywhere she could reach – looking for the damage she knew should have been there. Only to be met with nothing: No scars. No scratches, only wet skin. 

Pulling her shirt back down, the horned woman sat up and looked at her surroundings. Off to the left was a dense jungle, and to the right, a road cut a path through a somewhat less dense portion of the vegetation. In the distance, smoke curled its way into the blue sky.

Wherever this planet is that Yerin found herself on, one thing was for certain: This was not death.

\---

The shuttle touched down with a bump, and Plo waited for the ramp to be lowered. According to all scans of the mining planet, all operations were normal, and none of the workers had reported seeing anything out of the ordinary. Looking around him, the Jedi was happy to see the planet healing. Both battles fought early in the war had left deep and horrible wounds on the landscape and its people alike. It was heartening to see the once shelled out beaches and devastated jungle scarring over, if not fully healed.

A small welcome party greeted the Jedi and his men when they disembarked. One man dressed in a simple but well made green shirt and tan pants stepped forward. His hair- blonde and turning salt and pepper at the temples – was combed back in a utilitarian fashion. And although his posture was tense, his smile was genuine.

"Greetings, Master General," The man nodded. Spotting Wolffe, he nodded to the clone. "Commander, welcome." 

Turning back to the Jedi, the man squared his shoulders. As the Chief of security and a survivor on a planet twice invaded by the Separatists, Reiah Morosi was a man accustomed to the harshness of war. That he had come through still able to smile was something Plo Koon admired, but he was also aware of what that meant for the man's priorities.

"Forgive me for being blunt Sirs, but should we begin issuing evacuation orders for the city?"

"Not at this time Chief Reiah. We come on Jedi business today, not war."

The ChiefChief of security visibly relaxed, his smile stretching into a grin.

"There's not much difference between the two these days."

The Kel Dor laughs.

"Indeed," the Jedi agrees before sobering, "But perhaps we might find a place where we can talk?"

"Of course." Reiah inclines his head, understanding the unspoken half of the request, turning to the clone besides the Jedi, the human gestures to a stretch of the beach. 

"Commander, if your men would like to begin setting up a base camp, be our guests. Please let us know if there is anything we can do for you."

"Thank you, Sir." Wolffe says, throwing up a salute, mildly surprised when the ChiefChief returns the gesture.

Thus dismissed, the clone turns away to begin organizing his men. Waiting a moment, Reiah watches the Commander leave before turning his attention back to the Jedi.

"This way, Master General."

\---

Sequestered away in a tent, Reiah leans forward in his seat, elbows on the table, regarding the Jedi before him.

"Now that we're alone care to tell me what brings a Jedi and his most trusted troops to my planet?"

"A search. Five days ago, the force called out, and I have been tasked with finding the source of the disturbance."

"Must have been one hell of a call," The human remarks dryly.

Koon inclines his head, humming softly.

"What is it exactly you're searching for?"

"I do not know, only that it is on this planet."

The chief purses his lips and sits back, unimpressed, although if it is with the Jedi for chasing ghosts or the lack of information is anyone's guess. Truthfully, not knowing, has begun to rub Plo the wrong way as well. 

"What makes you so sure?"

"I can feel it in the way the force gathers around this place."

Reiah hums, teeth worrying his lower lip as he processes.

"I can only take so much on faith General." Holding up his hand, Reiah forstalls any objections, "By all means, search. But I'm going to need something more concrete than a feeling to justify your presa-"

The flap being thrown open by a frantic looking young man cuts the Chief off.

"Sir, a Separatist ship has been spotted entering atmosphere twelve klicks east from here."

Plo Koon looks over at his companion, eyes twinkling behind his goggles.

"Is that concrete enough?"

Reiah shoots the Jedi a wry glare.

"It'll do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plo Koon is by far my favorite Jedi in the order, and I have so much fun writing his character. I have always found his mixed background of the Jedi and the Baran Do fascinating, plus he is such a gentle soul, and getting into his character is soothing.


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The meeting of new faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I know I said I would have this chapter up sooner then it is and I apologize for the delay. A close friend of mine recently passed away and he was by far one of the biggest Star Wars fans I will ever know, and even looking at anything fandom related brought an ache to my heart.  
> But I think he would have wanted me to keep going, Sham was always down to talk theories and ideas, and I know he would be happy to see me continue with this story.

The locals had been wary when the dark-haired woman had stumbled, still dripping seawater into the nearest town. Understandably so, yet, someone had been kind enough to fetch a towel and a warm drink – both greatly appreciated by the freezing woman. Eventually, Yerin had been able to explain to a kind older woman how she had come to be in her position- that she didn't actually know what had happened to her. Only that she had woken up confused and very wet (carefully leaving out the part where the horned woman was fairly certain she had died. Aara had squinted her eyes as if she could tell she wasn't being told the whole truth, and for a moment, Yerin felt just like a child again, caught by her mother in a lie. It had taken considerable willpower not to fidget under the grandmotherly gaze).

Aara, whose hair had turned white with time but whose tongue remained as sharp if not sharper then her youth, eventually offered her spare room to sleep in, in exchange for helping around her small shop. The days were uneventful, but it gave the lost woman something to do and a roof over her head. Aara really was a sweet woman, if strict about the way her shop was organized.

When Yerin heard a ship land outside from her place in the back storeroom, she thought nothing of it. People frequently came and went in the little town, she had learned. The sound of docking ships was near-constant background noise at this point, and certainly not something to be remarked on. Even less noteworthy was the tinkling of the shop bell a few moments later. What did get her attention was a strange woosh-hum followed by screaming from the front room.

Cataloging work forgotten, Yerin darts through the small door separating the main shop from the back, ducking to avoid crashing her horns into the low door frame.

The scene in the front was chaotic: to one side; a shelf had been cleaved in half, various objects lay scattered around the floor. In the center of it all stood a tall woman with pale gray skin, clothed in purple and holding a glowing red sword. Said sword was currently pointed at the neck of the snowy-haired woman that had quickly become a close friend.

"I will not ask again," the stranger sneered, "Where is it?"

Aara, defiant even at sword point, raised her chin and sneered back.

"Go to hell, Sith bitch."

The stranger growled, her anger palpable, and Yerin didn't need the warning in the force to know what was coming next. Pushing out with the force, Yerin caught the woman mid-lunge, the sword a hairs breath away from Aara's neck.

"Hey!" Yerin shouted, and the stormy blue eyes of the stranger fixed on the dark-haired woman. Still held place, the attacker assessed the new arrival: Yerin could practically feel the way those blue eyes cataloged her short stature, long brown hair, and tall twisting horns. The gaze was assessing like a predator, sizing up a new opponent, or perhaps a potential meal.

"Get out."

Full lips twisted into a smile that was all teeth.

"Hello, darling," the woman, her voice cloying sweet and fake, purred. "I've been looking very hard for you."

"Last warning, kid; leave this shop now."

Yerin spat her response back, ignoring the others' attempt to throw her off guard.

Sensing her opponent was not about to be distracted, the stranger snarled and threw out the hand not holding her sword, sending Yerin crashing into a nearby shelf. On impact, Yerins mental hold on her opponent wavered for a moment – but it was enough; The red bladed woman moved in a blur of purple and gray, capitalizing on the opportunity. Rolling out of the way and on to her feet, Yerin grabbed the first thing she could defend herself with. Watching the way her opponent's sword neatly sliced through the floor, Yerin knew the small knife in her hands would not be enough to defend herself properly.

But it was a start.

Judging by the calculating glare and derogatory smirk, the grey and purple woman had come to a similar conclusion.

“You know, I’ve never fought a total stranger to the death before,” Yerin said nonchalantly, climbing to her feet and stalling for time. “First time for everything, I suppose.”

The woman lunged, forcing Yerin to sidestep or be cut in half.

“We don’t have to be strangers,” the woman purred. “My master is quite interested in meeting you.”

Slipping around to the side of her attacker, Yerin swings her dagger at an exposed arm, but the woman moves, and what would have been a devastating injury is only a mild cut.

“If this is how your master sends out invitations, I don’t think I want to know him better.” A red blade swings, and Yerin ducks, grinning at the other woman. “You, on the other hand? I admit you have piqued my curiosity.”

The woman seethes at the near-miss, and her anger rips through the force, crystallizing in the appearance of a second crimson blade. She slashes, her moves practiced and calculated like a dance. Without a weapon that can match her opponents, it is all Yerin can do to avoid being struck while being expertly backed into a corner.

The dagger is almost useless by this point, not without an opening. _An opening._

Chasing the beginnings of the idea, Yerin throws up her hands and starts to plead.

“Wait, just wait. Your master wants me alive, right?” Using the force, the horned woman tries to calm her racing thoughts, attempting to hide her true intentions behind a not entirely fake desperation. Infusing her force presence with confusion and panic and wrapping it around herself like a cloak.

The other woman smiles, all teeth and malice.

“He never said you had to be in good condition.”

Letting her hands tremble, Yerin swallows at the implication behind the statement while keeping her senses open to the force, waiting for the sign to act. _Not yet,_ the instinct whispers, _wait._

“Tell me,” the strange woman tilts her head, the tip of one of her blades drawing closer to the base of one of Yerin’s horns. “Will they bleed when I cut them from your head?”

_Wait…_

“I don’t know.”

_Wait…_

“Let's find out.” 

_Now!_

The force cries out, and several things happen at once: Bolts of red streak in through the storefront window, blowing glass shards everywhere, adding to the wreckage. The bolts are closely followed by white armored men led by a being dressed in robes of some kind.

Yerins attacker turns to face the newcomers, and at that moment, Yerin lunges, plunges her dagger into the woman’s wrist. 

The purple-clad woman screams, releasing her grip on one of her blades, which extinguished with a woosh before clattering to the floor.

Calling the fallen weapon to her, Yerin stands and ignites the sword. Waves of _AngerHatePain_ emanate from the weapon, practically screaming in the force and chafing Yerins already sensitive mind. But she ignores it in favor of confronting her attacker. 

Wounded, down a weapon, and outnumbered, the woman throws out her good hand, sending shards of glass and wood flying in all directions. Yerin must turn to avoid any serious damage, and by the time she turns around, the woman is gone.

One of the soldiers speaks up, addressing the man (or at least Yerin thinks he is male) in robes.

“Should we go after her, sir?”

The question draws Yerin's attention to the soldiers, all of whom are armed. The force is maddeningly silent, offering no help on how to proceed. Tightening her grip on the hilt of the stolen sword, Yerin faces the group. Head high and horns tilted forward, ready to go on the defensive if need be, she clears her throat and calls out in her strongest voice:

“Who the hell are you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usually, I try to have multiple parts of the story happen per chapter, but I don't know how long I will be able to keep doing that. Trying to read my own handwriting is an absolute bear, but I will keep chapters roughly the same length.  
> And before you comment that my tense is all messed up in this chapter, I know. But I needed to get this up to try and get my momentum back. I will be editing this chapter later this week probably.  
> On a different note, I hope everyone is staying safe out there. If you live in America, I know the whole country is falling apart. Be careful, be smart.


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rex is not alright, the creature in the deep of space is awake, and we find out how the Wolffe Pack got to the store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AYYYYYY!!! It's an update before the two-week mark and its the longest chapter yet (It's roughly a third of the total fic length, including the prologue). Not that that says much, but considering my usual fic length is roughly the length of the last chapters taken individually, I'm very proud of myself. Heck, I even think the tense is consistent through the whole thing! (Watch me post this, reread it, and find 70 different typos *sigh*). Now, I have read this about five times, so fingers crossed that I didn't miss any spelling errors. However I no longer trust my editing software as it has missed some pretty big things in hindsight, so I'm back to relying on myself for grammar. (And a friendly reminder that I do not have a beta for this fic, so if you see an error please let me know!)  
> We added some characters in this chapter and as promised, I will update the tags accordingly.  
> \---------  
> Continue to stay safe out there folks!

Rex felt like shit, and not the usual version either. The clone captain had long learned how to deal with the aches and pains of battle, was beyond familiar with the headaches that resulted from too much adrenaline and too little sleep. That is not to say the clone was _always_ in pain, but it was an old friend. It had been ever since he was a Shiny, fighting his first battle on Geonosis, learning the hard way that for all his training and drills on Kamino there was no substitute for experience.

But even those pains paled in comparison to _this_.

Everything hurt as if thousands of vibroblades were busy trying to cut their way out of his body, which was to say nothing of his head.

It had started small, only mild body aches and a dull pounding, but Rex had dutifully checked himself into the med bay on the suspicion that something wasn’t right, only for Kix to clear him with a prescription for “more sleep you karking workaholic”. Sleep did help at first, but eventually, the aches came back worse than before, and after the third time the Captain was discharged under the increasingly worried gaze of his brother, Rex had stopped going.

A gentle hand on his shoulder pulled Rex from his misery.

“Earth to Rex, you okay?”

The smiling face of his commander was a welcome sight, especially after “The Disturbance” as the 501st had taken to calling it. The young Togruta had been talking with some of the men when it happened. One second, she had been fine, the next she had collapsed. Rex distinctly remembered the way Fives had barged into his tent, helmet missing and eyes wide, and breathlessly announced that Ahsoka along with the General were in medical.

Rex’s heart had stopped in his chest, his mind racing with possibilities and the onset of a stress headache. When she woke only a handful of minutes later, the entire company breathed a sigh of relief. It would be a full day before General Skywalker would return to the world of the wakeful, and a further two before Kix would let the stubborn Jedi return to duty.

Smiling in return, Rex shrugged, “I’m fine, sir. Bit of a migraine is all.” And before she could call his bluff, changed the subject.

“What’s up kid?”

The Togruta rolled her eyes like the Captain knew she would.

“I’m not a kid Rex. I’m almost seventeen.” Ahsoka's sabac face was almost perfect, but Rex could see the upturn at the corners of her mouth.

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, Commander.”

The two looked at each other for a moment, and despite knowing it would only make his head worse, Rex laughed along with Ahsoka when neither could keep a straight face any longer. The comment earned him a playful shove, something he perhaps should have expected, which sent a fresh wave of pain coursed through his body. He couldn’t have stopped the gasp that escaped if he had tired.

“Rex, you are not okay.” Ahsoka's blue eyes were wide with alarm. “We need to get you to medical.”

She said it with a conviction that made the odd, but not unfamiliar, mix of affection and panic swell within the clone.

On the one hand, knowing and seeing that the Togruta cared about him and his brothers would always be one of the best-damned feelings in the galaxy as far as Rex was concerned. But Rex also knew what happened to the clones that experienced things that couldn’t be “fixed” in house and had to be sent back to Kamino. No clone was above being expendable, and even if a brother was fortunate enough to come back, those who did were never quite the same as they had been before.

And perhaps Rex was more panicked than usual by the suggestion of going back to medical where the droids had begun whispering about chronic conditions when they pulled up his file, an addition that hadn’t made it into the official reports because Kix refused to write up anything without physical proof.

“I’m fine Ahsoka, I swear.”

The words came out with more force behind them then the blonde had intended, almost begging, and he was certain that this more than anything else would be what would make his commander drag him down to the med bay.

Instead of marching him to Kix who would have no choice but to file a full report under the supervision of their commanding officer, Rex watched as Ahsoka froze at the words, eyes glassy and distant, before relaxing in a complete reversal of her previous demeanor.

“You’re fine Rex.” She said standing up, lekku gently swaying and face disquietingly calm. “I just wanted to see if you would like to join some of the boys and me for a game of handball during lunch?”

Thrown by the shift, Rex gaped for a second before stuttering an affirmative. Ahsoka beamed and before the clone could fully recover, she’d gone from the room, leaving the blonde to blink dumbly at the door with one lone thought in his mind:

_What the kriff just happened?_

_\---_

Reiah Morosi liked to think he had learned a few things in his 37 years of life. Hard truths that he had learned only after two occupations and their infinitely more destructive liberations. Namely, that panicking at bad news never made the bad news any better.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes briefly and sent a silent prayer to whatever deity would listen for strength. Beside him, the Jedi Master sat with an eerie stillness that he had come to associate with trained force users. Opening his eyes, he took the time to observe the frantic looking young man that had barged into the tent. Dark brown hair sat in disarray over a pair of pinched blue eyes and a young face. Long limbs poorly filled out the standard green and tan security uniform giving the visual impression of an unkempt child playing a game of work, an impression which was only encouraged by the way the uniform hung too long in the sleeves and legs.

_A new hire, fresh out of training. Poor kid hasn’t even had time to get to the tailors for a proper fitting._ The chief surmised, recalling the right of passage that was getting a fitted uniform for the first time.

“How many ships?”

The young man shifted and awkwardly thrust out a datapad, movements stilted like a newborn calf learning how to walk.

“Just one sir. Small, single passenger and maybe an astro-mech.”

Pulling up the information on the pad, Reiah glanced over the report and nodded, then grabbed a pad of his own off the table and began to type.

“What’s your name?”

“Jodi, Mathes Jodi.”

“Jedi General Koon and I will see to this problem. I need you, Mathes, to take this back to command and pass on my instructions to begin protocol Epsilon 9-113.”

Mathes took the pad dutifully with trembling hands and a mumbled ‘yes sir’ before turning to leave.

“And Jodi?” the greying man called out, halting the messenger halfway through the tent flap.

“Yes, Chief?”

“You’ve done good today.”

Mathes paused for a just a moment, spine straightening and taking on an edge of confidence that had not been there previously and nods his head before ducking out at a fast clip, report firmly in hand.

\---

Plo Koon watched the interaction with interest, much as he had been watching the Chief of Security since the human had come up to greet the Jedi. Although still relatively young the Chief was proving to be a levelheaded man under pressure and a capable leader. From just the brief time Plo had seen Reiah interact with the men and women under his command, it was clear that they held high respect for him. It would only be a short time, Plo was certain, before the Wolffe Pack would come to share that respect.

When Mathes Jodi finally ducked out, the Kel Dor turned to the Chief.

“I had not planned to have you accompany us on this mission.”

“Master General, I will be frank with you. Excarga will not, _cannot_ –” he corrects, “— survive another liberation effort if it comes to that.”

At that moment it occurred to the Jedi just how weary the human was. It was written in the crease of his brow and the way his shoulders ever so carefully did not slouch, the posture of a man who held himself together for the sake of others out of sheer willpower. It was a bone-deep tired that the Jedi found mirrored in his own soul.

“As Chief of Security, I am responsible for all operations on this planet in some way, even if they are not mine. In the grand scheme of the Republic, you outrank me, Master Jedi. I cannot stop you from doing as you see fit. If this goes south and this Separatist ship is the precursor to another successful occupation, yourself, the Jedi Order, and the Grand Army will take the blame on the Galactic level. I will be the one who takes it on the Planetary level regardless of if I was involved or not.”

“And you would not like to be blamed for something you had no part in?” Plo guessed.

“And I will not be seen as negligent in my duty to my planet, whatever the outcome.”

The Jedi considered the words, bringing one hand to rest on his respirator as he thought. There was something deeper to what the Chief had said, something important that the Jedi could not immediately place but that stuck in his mind, and he let himself ponder it for only a few moments before mentally setting it aside, a puzzle to be examined at a later time.

“My Commander will not be pleased.”

The Chief shrugged in the way of things that could not be helped and cracked a faint smile.

“From what I’ve heard he rarely is.”

\---

It would never cease to amaze the Jedi just how rapidly his men could mobilize when needed. In under ten minutes, the transport had launched, speeding its way over the jungle in the direction the report indicated.

“Can you tell me what lies in this direction?”

Plo's assumption that Commander Wolffe would not be pleased to have the Chief on board had proven correct, although a part of the Kel Dor suspected that the grumbling had more to do with the principle of the thing than actual disapproval, especially since it was quickly apparent that despite being a civilian element the Chief would not be a hindrance: he moved with a soldiers efficiency, effortlessly finding a space on the transport where he would be the most help while not being in anyone’s way. That he traveled armed no doubt further endeared himself to the Clone.

“Not much, just a few of our smaller port towns.” He looked down at the report in his hand, reviewing known information. “Best guess based on trajectory and airspeed is the coastal port Marique.”

“Not exactly the place to send a scout,” Wolffe commented, earning a hum of agreement from Chief Reiah.

“You assume this is the precursor to a third invasion.” Plo reminds.

The Chief raised his eyebrows.

“You think they came here for something else?”

“I know my men and I did.”

\---

\----- _The Maw_ , Messel Sector: Day of The Disturbance -----

Something had changed. Yes, that much was for certain.

The claxon in the force that had served as her alarm clock was proof enough of that, and even if it hadn’t the sheer chaotic energy of the force - a turbulent roll and clash as it folded in and against itself – _well._

She was almost surprised that alone hadn’t woken her. Almost. But the chaos in the force was nothing next to the ache and longing that had replaced her soul back when the galaxy was still young. It barely registered in comparison to herself.

The swirling mist settled as she collected herself, pulled and twisted until her form was fit for this plane of existence rather than one of shadows – an eldritch being compressed into a mynock’s skin; Teeth became less numerous in a mouth that no longer resembled a tare in the universe, silver pinpricks of light morphed into dark eyes that found themselves set in an unremarkable face. Tentacle like appendages undulated until they more closely resembled arms and legs rather than a curling smoke.

The emptiness within her howled with a hunger that could never be sated but only temporarily assuaged, and she hummed, feeling her planet hum with her. First, food, then escape from her prison. The universe would still be there, and she was eternal, and this wouldn’t take long.

Decided, she sat down and stretched forth her will, calling the nearest being to her.

_Not long at all._

_\---_

Upon reaching the town of Marique, Plo Koon, The Wolffe Pack, and Chief Reiah disembarked the transport to find a ghost town. Stalls stood empty, wears still set out for sale, a red ball lay abandoned in the street. Everywhere Wolffe looked gave the impression that the locals had simply vanished. To say that it set his teeth on edge would have been an understatement and as he walked down the abandoned streets, footsteps echoing, he hefted his blaster closer.

“Oh, this can’t be a good sign,” he checked his HUD, “I don’t even have power readings.”

Behind and to the left of him, Chief Reiah spoke up.

“Actually, this is a good thing. Protocol Epsilon 9-113: Immediate shelter in place orders for all civilians with permission for home defense in areas of suspected Seppie contact. All non-essential power gets shut off in case of Droid involvement. Poppers may be harmless for people, but they do a number on the local wiring.”

As they passed by another building, Wolffe spotted a figure peak through an upper window, blaster rifle in hand, before ducking out of view.

“That’s comforting.”

Wolffe didn’t relax his hold on his blaster.

“Is it planet-wide or…?”

The Chief moved up beside the Commander and shook his head, readjusting his grip.

“Local. Planet can’t afford to shut down everything, not for only one ship at least.”

Wolffe nodded and didn’t miss the bitter edge in the other man’s voice.

“Demand cares for none but itself?”

“Precies-“

“Do you hear that?” Plo Koon interrupted, the hand not holding his saber raised in a fist, and the whole company halts, deathly silent as they listen.

At first, the clone couldn’t hear anything, but after a second, he was able to make out the sound of a crash followed by an unmistakable _whoosh-hum_ that he would know concussed and half dead.

“Sith!” Someone shouted.

“Move!”

The General gave the order, and everyone took off at a run toward the sound, boots pounding against the compacted dirt. Chief Reiah fell to the back, rapidly issuing a change of security orders into his com unit, the safety of his planet, and its residence taking priority over the Sith down the road.

They reached the shop where the sounds of a battle emanated. Two large windows flanked the door and through them, Wolffe can see the hasty barricade that sat behind the primary entryway. The commander didn’t need Boost to tell him that it wouldn’t work as an entryway, but he appreciated the confirmation all the same.

“Take out the window,” The Commander ordered, and his men respond with an efficiency that makes him proud.

Blaster fire poured into the storefront shattering a window, and the firing was barely over before Wolffe and his General climbed into the devastated shop.

The one-eyed clone would only get a brief look at the Sith before he is nearly blown back on his ass, but just like the sound of a lightsaber, he would recognize the tattoos and pail skin anywhere.

Ventress screamed, sending glass and other debris flying in all directions, and on instinct Wolffe twisted himself in front of his Jedi, the man he could acknowledge in the privacy of his own mind as being like a father to him, blocking the worst of the shrapnel from hitting the unarmored man.

By the time he looked up, Ventress had gone and Trick-Shot was addressing the General.

“Should we go after her Sir?”

The General seemed about to respond when a voice caught their attention.

“Who the hell are you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cookies to whoever figures out who the eldritch lady is. And if you do happen to know, please tell me if you feel that I should add her to the character tags asap, or if you think it's fine that I don't add her name until I get around to revealing her identity in the fic.


End file.
